


A Perfect Addition

by Steel



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steel/pseuds/Steel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snorting, Barid finally shifted, leaning forwards to press his hands hard against the windowsill. “Humility doesn’t suit you,” he muttered, though Elan could not help but notice that Barid <i>still</i> had not managed to tear his gaze away from the focus of his ire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Addition

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Unreasonably Attractive Fandom (UAF) Secret Santa Exchange for evilsparrow on tumblr. I hope you like it! And thanks muchly to [ladypoetess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypoetess) for beta-ing and [Tremaile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tremaile) for the support! <3

Barid was standing in front of the window, hands clasped behind him. Though Elan only had a view of Barid’s back from his cushioned armchair, he could tell by the stiffness in Barid’s posture, as if the tall man were carved from elstone like the walls around them, that he was less than pleased. _Then again,_ Elan thought wryly, mouth curving into a small smile, _when is he_ ever _pleased?_

Taking one last sip of his dark wine, Elan set the glass aside and rose to his feet, padding over to Barid. He let his fingers trail up Barid’s arm, the touch brief but playful, before joining him at the window. Barid eyed him sidelong, moving his head only a fraction, but Elan’s attention was already on the city sprawling beneath them.

The view from so high up was breath-taking, but ephemeral. Oh, people might claim otherwise, what with how long ago most of the city was built—the silver-like towers and dome-like arches shimmering faintly in the moonlight as if they had only recently been completed—but nothing lasted forever. His views might be considered obscure by some, even cryptic, but he had delved into the matter extensively and was certain of his conclusions. It really was a shame that most people were not inclined to enter such existential discussions with him, but he was used to that. Barid, at least, was one of the few who indulged him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be down there with all the rest?” Elan asked, arching a knowing brow at the silent man.

Barid kept his eyes focused on one of the spires across from theirs, his jaw clenching visibly. Lights spilled out onto one of its wide balconies, the orchestra within only faintly audible over the guests milling about in fine clothing with goblets in hand. Elan did not need to seize _saidin_ to see who the tall, broad-shouldered man in scarlet and gold was, standing next to a blonde-haired woman in the center of a throng of adoring onlookers. 

“You are, after all, one of the most acclaimed individuals of our time,” Elan went on in a perfectly neutral tone, folding his own hands behind his back. “Your absence from the celebrations will most certainly be noted.”

“And yours won’t be?” Barid finally shot back, fixing him with his piercing gaze.

Elan shrugged, turning away from the window. “I’m not as illustrious as you are,” he pointed out, reaching for his glass again. He did not drink; he merely lifted it in the air and scrutinized its contents thoughtfully. “After all, I’m just a philosopher.”

Snorting, Barid finally shifted, leaning forwards to press his hands hard against the windowsill. “Humility doesn’t suit you,” he muttered, though Elan could not help but notice that Barid _still_ had not managed to tear his gaze away from the focus of his ire.

“No, it doesn’t.” Elan considered Barid for a moment, letting his eyes trail over him—noting the way Barid’s fingers clenched and unclenched around the stonework—until he finally brought the glass to his lips. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, either,” he remarked casually, taking a sip.

Barid whirled around, his eyes wide with outrage. “What did you just say?” Though his voice was quiet, his hands balled into fists by his sides, opening and closing almost unconsciously.

“Nothing that you don’t know to be true.”

Barid’s lips curled into an almost feral snarl, looking for all the world as if he were a hair’s breadth away from seizing _saidin_ , or challenging Elan to a _sha’je_ duel—or maybe even lashing out at him with his bare fists, if he were so inclined. Elan did not prepare himself against an attack, tense up, or even turn to the Source. He merely locked eyes with Barid, then deliberately settled back down into the armchair.

“Your attempts to provoke me are puerile,” Barid finally spat, swinging an arm to close the window’s shutters with a burst of _saidin_ , plunging the room in darkness. 

Elan smirked openly, knowing Barid would be able to see it with his _saidin_ -enhanced senses. “Does it matter if I wanted to provoke you or not? It got you away from the window.”

He heard Barid cross the room, and felt the faint sensation of _saidin_ about Barid that told him Barid had not drawn much of the One Power at all, though he had certainly been furious enough to do so. For a man who was blind to whatever involved his rival, even his own faults, Barid was a surprisingly lucid man when it came to everything else.

Still seething, Barid turned on a few glowbulbs, illuminating the room, then settled into the opposite armchair, grabbing the wine bottle and pouring himself a good amount. “One day,” he muttered darkly, tipping his head back to take a generous swallow. “One day, I’ll best Lews Therin Telamon.” He spat the name like poison, mouth twisting. “Mark my words, Elan. One day, I’ll make him _beg_.”

Elan smiled wider, setting his glass down and rising to his feet. Barid watched him warily but remained seated, even when Elan reached his chair, gripped the armrests, and leaned over him, dark hair falling forwards to frame his face. “Forget about him,” he whispered, lifting a hand to trace Barid’s lower lip, “or else I’ll make _you_ beg.”

Barid’s answering smirk before he kissed him was all the answer Elan needed. True, Elan usually preferred subtlety to the direct approach, but the intensity in Barid’s eyes, the _hunger_ in them, had finally made Elan’s mind up.

Barid would make a _perfect_ addition to the Shadow.


End file.
